






M;f W ^' ^%^ ^ 



^#^r**sv 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

Chap t'opvright No.. 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



FROM SUMMER LAND 
TO SUMMER 



A JOURNEY FROM THOMASVILLE, 
GEORGIA, TO NEW YORK, DURING 
APRIL AND MAY, 1800, AS TOLD 
BY THE REV. J. HARRIS KNOWLES. 
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM 
PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE REV. F. 
LANDON HUMPHREYS, D.D., AND 
MR. LUDWIG SCHUMACHER . . . 



NEW YORK 
1899 



^ H0V211899 ) 



Tzi5 

Xl3 



46657 



FIVE HUNDRED COPIES PRIVATELY PRINTED 
FOR FREDERICK HUMPHREYS, M.D. 



A'o.. 



Coi'YKIGHT, 1899, KY 

FREDERICK HUMPHREYS 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED. 




SECOND copy« 







TO 

MRS. DR. FREDERICK HUMPHREYS, 

WHOSE HAPPY IDEA LAID OUT THIS TRIP, 

AND WHOSE KINDNESS 

IS ALWAYS AN INSPIRATION AND A REWARD, 

THESE FEW NOTES 

OF A MOST ENJOYABLE TIME ARE 

AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 

BY 

J. HARRIS KNOWLES. 




Contents 



The Rendezvous. — The Plan of the Trip. — 
The Pleasure of Travel. — Alone in a 
Pullman. — My First Fellow Traveller. 
— Old Acquaintances. — Chicken a la 
provengale, — New Passengers at 
Charleston. — The Hunters Bound for 
Florida.— Tales of Old Life in the 
South. — Returning- Soldiers. — The 
Molested Chinaman. — Thomasville at 
Last ....... 



II 



Some Days in Thomasville. — A Stroll in 
the Garden. — Happy, Idle Days. — 
Brain Pictures. — Pleasant Callers. — 
Southern Women. — My Little Friend. 



vi CONTENTS 



— The Letter of Thanks. — The Coun- 
try Club. — The MagnoHa Road. — A 
Tragedy. — Sympathy for Both Sides. 
—Clean Content and Comfort. — The 
Patchwork. — The Preserves. — Sus- 
ceptibility to Kindness . . ■ ~9 

III 

Through Georgia. — The Three Zones. — 
The Curved Furrows. — Atlanta.— The 
Exposition Site. — The Gods of Greece. 
— Through the Town. — The Confed- 
erate Fort. — The Memorial Day Pro- 
cession ...... 59 

IV 

Chattanooga. — Memorable Battlefields. — 
Up the Incline. — On Lookout Moun- 
tain. — Through the Cemeteries. — The 
Graves of the Unknown. — The Great 
Altar 83 

V 

Hot Springs, Virginia. — Tennessee Moon- 
shiners. — Mountain Ride to Springs. — 



CONTENTS vii 



The Bath House.— The Mountain Val- 
ley. — The New Homestead Hotel. — 
Chance Meetings. — A Dead Town, — 
The Little Virginians . . .103 



VI 

Luray Cavern. — Through the Old Town. 
— The Mountain Conflagration. — Our 
Guide. — Remembrances of War 
Times. — The Entrance to the Caves. 
— American Refinement. — Weird 
Light Efl'ects. — Underground Won- 
ders. — The Embedded Skeleton. — 
The Finding of the Caverns.— The 
Ball-room. — The Music of the Rocks. 
—The Cathedral— The Chimes.— A 
Primeval Part. — Geological Forma- 
tion. — Richness of the Pendants . 123 



vn 

Harper's Ferry. — Charlestown. — John 
Brown. — Remembrances of 1859. — 
Statement of Governor Wise. — An- 
other View. — The Peace Offering. — 
Contrasts in the Shenandoah Valley . 145 



viii CONTENTS 



VIII 

PAGE 

Washington. — The Negro Singers. — The 
Congressional Library. — Its Gorgeous- 
ness, — The Simple Side of Things. — 
Near View of the Obelisk.— A Sug- 
gested Frieze. — The Payment of 
$20,000,000. — A Retrospect. — Conclu- 
sion ....... 163 



V 



Illustrations 

PAGE 

A Mountain 
Stream in Vir- 
ginia , Frontispiece 
We hope you will 
be pleased with 

our trip . . . iv 
What do you 

think of it ? . . v 

A Pleasant Bit . ix 
Brynawel, Thom- 

asville ... 4 

A Mountain Road 5 

A Southern Farm 27 

In the Garden, Brynawel 32 

The Garden Front -^-^f 

Something worth looking at 57 

Through Georgia 62 

A Nickel's Worth of Niggers 63 

The Circus Poster 82 



X ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

On Lookout Mountain 86 

On the Heights 87 

The Incline, Chattanooga 93 

The Army and the Church 102 

The Waterfall 106 

The Young Virginians 107 

I would I were a boy again 121 

Saracen's Tent* 126 

Double Column * 127 

Giant's Hall * 144 

Harper's Ferry 148 

Retrospection 149 

Valley of the Shenandoah 159 

Yes, we did have a lovely time .... 161 

The Menage 166 

Heads of Departments 167 

How pleasant to look back over it all! . 186 



* From photographs kindly furnished by Mr. Lemuel 
Zerkel. 



The Rendezvous 



Off on our journey for the Summer Land ! 

There shall we meet dear friends whose love we 

prize ; 
There, 'neath the glow of sunny southern skies, 
True hearts will greet us, with glad outstretched 
hand. 

True hearts, true hands, and souls who under- 
stand ! 

Such are the treasures for which wisdom sighs ; 

For these, all else she evermore decries, 
For, lacking these, all else is sterile sand. 

Fly then, ye wheels, and fly, O speeding train, 
On from Manhattan, islanded in state ; 

Fly then, ye haste me to my friends again, 

On through fair lands and cities wide and great ; 

Fly then, your clamor makes a merry strain. 

On to the Home where dear friends for me wait. 

T. H. K. 




'^' ^^^^HK Last year It 

^ aJt w^'^3 ni)' happi- 

ness to make 
" "A Flight In 

^Hp^ Spring " to the 

Pacific Coast 
and back with 
my good friend 
Dr. Humphreys. 
The scattered 
notes of that ever 
memorable excursion have already 
seen the light. The preparation 
of them for the press was a re- 
newal to myself of all the Interest 




6 FROM SUMMER LAND 

of the journey; and the assurances 
of pleasure derived from my Ht- 
tle book, received from those who 
had read it, have more than re- 
paid me for the labor of its pro- 
duction. 

In this spring of 1899 my friend 
again called me to his side, invit- 
ing me to accompany him on his 
return journey from his winter 
home in the Southern Summer 
Land to his summer home in the 
North. 

I was to join him once more at 
Thomasville, Georgia, and then, 
after a few days there, we were, 
with the members of his household, 
to take our journey northward. 

Our route was to be throucrh 



TO SUMMER J 

Georgia; into Tennessee, stopping 
at Chattanooga ; then into Vir- 
ginia, visiting the Hot Springs ; 
exploring the mystic beauties of 
the Luray Cavern ; traversing the 
famous Shenandoah Valley ; peep- 
inor at beautiful Washino^ton ; and 
so home, the whole affair taking 
about ten days. 

A few of the many interesting 
episodes of that lovely journey I 
will try to reproduce. 

It was, then, with a feeling of 
renewed pleasure that I set out on 
my little outing with my dear 
friends. Travel has always an at- 
traction for me. When one can 
measure from the trolden mile- 
stone of a fixed home, then to 



8 FROM SUMMER LAND 

wander is ever sweet, and wander- 
ing makes the return ever sweeter. 

Travel is the very easiest way 
to get out of the pressing sense of 
those immediate and never-ceas- 
ing obHgations which always sur- 
round us in our ordinary affairs. 
But, for a journey, we can leave 
them all with a perfectly clear 
conscience. We quietly relegate 
them to our return. 

We are, while on the wing of 
travel, free as the birds. We are 
rid of all cares. The whole world 
all about us is at its accustomed 
and inevitable toil, but we are 
flying through space, cared for, 
carried, and all the vast machinery 
of the universe seems to be for our 



TO SUMMER 9 

unemployed leisure alone. Time 
even seems to be long- drawn out, 
and without its fleeting quality. 
Space exists that we may pass 
through it ; and our own will to 
be away and moving, thus free, 
seems to lift us above the world- 
force even of gravitation itself. 

We were to meet at Thomas- 
ville. With these emotions of ab- 
solute freedom from care or obli- 
gation within me I sped on to the 
rendezvous. 

The way was one which I trav- 
ersed before, but the new spring 
seemed more beautiful than ever. 
I watched its tender buds and 
opening leaves, not unwillingly, 
from the solitude of a Pullman. 



lO FROM SUMMER LAND 

I was the only passenger on board 
until we reached Philadelphia. 
Travel in the throuiTfh cars south 
was licrht. To be thus alone after 
the roar of New York was delight- 
ful. I gave myself up to it much 
as the gentleman did who thought 
that the height of pleasure was to 
be alone In the choir of an Eng- 
lish cathedral, while organ and 
choristers and chanting priests 
filled the vast sacred space with 
holy sound. The rhythmic throb 
of the encrine and the continuous 
murmur of the wheels were not 
out of keeping with my peaceful 
rest, while through the windows 
I could see how spring was once 
more decking itself in living green. 



TO SUMMER I I 

It did not take me long to 
scrape an acquaintance with the 
solitary fellow traveller who came 
on board at the Broad Street 
Station in Philadelphia. We were 
soon in pleasant conversation, and 
by one of those curious combina- 
tions in life, I found that he was 
the son of a Chicago physician 
whom I had known well, many 
years before. 

There was no dearth of topic or 
of talk on the rest of our journey 
together, which was as far as Bal- 
timore. We had much to sav of 
friends who were no more ; of 
lives with downward trend, and of 
those whose years were brighter 
ever as they neared the close. 



12 FROM SUMMER LAND 

Then there was business to be 
talked of ; and the questions of 
the day ; and higher things were 
not forgotten. I remember how 
my friend's eyes were humid as 
he spoke of his dear wife and her 
religious zeal, and of her scrupu- 
lous care of his children ; but, said 
he, finfyerinor a rather lar^re and 
somewhat artistic emblem of a 
well-known secret society, " This 
eives me all the religion I want." 
But as he said the words I could 
feel that there was in them rather 
a bravado tone and not the gen- 
uine ring of a firm conviction. 

"No," said I, "that does not, 
nor can it ever satisfy you. You 
have taken that up of your own 



TO SUMMER 13 

free will. It has just as much au- 
thority as you wish to give it. It 
is in your control. Religion is 
something different. It must seize 
your whole being. You must 
regard it as having power over 
you, whether you wish it or not, 
and that it is from God, whose you 
are, and whom you must serve." 

He listened to me with pro- 
found reorard, and, as he looked 
afar out of the car window, he 
spoke of the difficulties of faith 
and of certain things which seemed 
to him unreasonable, but he ad- 
mitted that the devotion of his 
wife, and his love for his children, 
made him wish to believe. We 
soon parted. Baltimore was close 



14 FROM SUMMER LAND 

at hand, where he left me with a 
warm shake of the hand, and once 
more I was in the macrnificence of 
the PuHman all alone. 

The time soon came for that 
which it is never safe to neo^lect 
on a journey, one's dinner. Per- 
haps this pressing need is left with 
mortals en route, to remind them 
that, despite of all their freedom 
from ordinary cares and entangle- 
ments, for the nonce, they yet are 
human. 

The lonesome darkies were glad 
to have something to do, when I 
called them to my side and told 
my wants. I found that I was in 
a buffet car. The waiter pre- 
sented me with enthusiasm the 



TO SUMMER 15 

ornamental menu. Thereon was 
an alluring array of dishes, with 
rather mixed lingual names. 
Chicken a la provciK^alc tempted 
me, but it was a rash venture. It 
was a horrid mess of fibrous sub- 
stance, out of which the bones 
dropped too easily ; and the red- 
dish tomatoes and scattering spices 
did not add anything attractive to 
the dish. 

"Your chicken a la proveii^alc 
does not amount to much," 1 said 
to the attendant. 

"No, sah," was the reply ; " dem 
canned oroods ain't no oood." 

Here was a near reflection of 
"Embalmed Beef" right with me; 
and what visions did it bring up ! 



1 6 FROM SUMMER LAND 

"Is everything on this menu 
canned ? " I asked. 

" Yes, sah, ebry thing 'cept ham 
and tongue," was the reply. 

Then said I, " Serve me ham or 
tongue for the rest of the journey." 

What an absurd orHtter of a 
Parisian cafe the promising menu 
gave, but all dropped in prosaic 
fact, into a cupboard of canned 
eoods and a kerosene oil stove 
therein, to warm them up for the 
use of innocent and incautious pas- 
sengers. 

All this, however, was a mere 
trifling grievance to any man with 
either head or heart, for by this 
time we were speeding on through 
the historic soil of Virtrinia. b^'om 



TO SUMMER 17 

the windows of my lonely car 
there were ever pictures to be 
seen. The great curves of the 
ploughed fields ; the old houses 
nestling in their surrounding trees ; 
the mixture of new and old in the 
stations we passed through ; the 
historic names and places which 
came to our eyes as w^e flew along ; 
all irave somethinor to think of, to 
dream of, or to hope for. How, 
everywhere in such a great State, 
the past, the present, and the fu- 
ture come to gaze at you, a mystic 
three, indissolubly linked together ! 
It was not until next mornincr 
at Charleston, that any great in- 
crease was made to our company. 
Durine the niirht a few passeno-ers 

2 



1 8 FROM SUMMER LAND 

had entered ; but, once in the real 
South, every seat was occupied. 
The j^^reater number were on pleas- 
ure bent ; off for outings at Bruns- 
wick, or fishing in Florida. With 
a group of the fishermen I soon 
found myself in agreeable chat ; 
not that I am a fisherman, for I pre- 
fer the pleasure of the woods and 
streams, pure and simple, to any 
hunt for game or anything else 
that you can trap or kill therein. 
The thirst to do to death anything 
one sees in the woods seems to me 
inexplicable. I would rather be 
able to tret close to bird and beast, 
and see how they live, and learn 
somethint*- of their mysterious ex- 
istence, than thus to slay them. 



TO SUMMER 19 

Even the wanton destruction of 
plant or flower seems a sort of 
sacrileee ; there is a veneration for 
nature in that self-restraint which 
can 

*' Love the wild rose, and leave it on its 
stem." 

A certain nobleness does, how- 
ever, inhere in the hunter, and out 
of his excess and riot in killing, 
some good does come. Among 
my hunting fellow travellers I 
picked out one for his splendid 
bearing. Tall, graceful, every 
movement harmonious, with steady 
eye, and good health gleaming 
from his clear complexion. 

When I entered the smoking- 



20 FROM SUMMER LAND 

room of the car, he at once cour- 
teously asked if tobacco was dis- 
agreeable to me. Of course it 

o 

was not. A licrhted cicrar soon 
made me free of the company. 

It was then I learned of the 
proposed fishing excursion to 
Florida, in which a youncr Enj^- 
lishman with him was to take 
part. I hoped they would get 
the biggest tarpon known, but it 
seems they were after smaller 
game. 

As we journeyed on my new- 
found and most courteous friend 
told me of the old life among the 
Sea Islands, off from Charleston 
and that region. From plantation 
to plantation the lords of the soil 



TO SUMMER 21 

went in eieht-oared orlcrs to make 
brave pleasure for themselves 
under hospitable roofs. 

One can easily imagine how the 
cup might overflow now and then, 
and that hot blood would assert 
itself in rather positive ways ; but, 
like a dream, it has all vanished, 
and a new order rises and new 
problems come, more difficult to 
settle than when black and white 
marked the lines. 

In relation to all this my friend 
told me that in those old days 
a book appeared, wTitten by the 
young English wife of a Southern 
planter, which antedated '* Uncle 
Tom's Cabin " and had almost as 
widespread an influence in Eng- 



22 FROM SUMMER LAND 

land as Mrs. Harriet Beecher 
Stowe's famous story years after- 
ward. The work of the young Eng- 
lishwoman was, however, largely 
a collection of " dreadful tales " 
which she had heard from the 
rollicking and mischievously ex- 
ao-creratine lips of the boon com- 
panions of her husband. Her 
horrors were a spur to their inven- 
tion, and tales which might have 
adorned the "Arabian Nights" 
were so positively affirmed that 
she believed them. 

One was related to me by my 
hunter friend. It was in brief 
this : Two planters have an affair 
of honor. A duel is to decide all. 
The details of weapons, and all 



TO SUMMER 23 

that I forget, but the crownhig 
condition was that all the slaves 
of the vanquished were to be 
killed by the victor, beheaded, 
and their heads used by him, to 
ornament the fence-posts of his 
plantation. This wild story is a 
specimen of what was credited 
and printed. 

The hours of travel all through 
the day were made bright by the 
eenial conversation of my hunter 
friend. At Waycross— where I 
was to leave the main line for the 
local branch to Thomasville — just 
before changing cars, my new- 
found friend sought me out and 
bade me farewell with all the 
warmth of an old acquaintance. 



24 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



Strange as it may seem, we found 
during our previous conversation 
that we both aHke knew the same 
people in England, and had been 
cruests under the same roof in that 
hospitable and lovely land. 

It so happened that in our vivid 
chat and pleasant interchange 
of thought we quite overlooked 
exchanging cards. His name I 
know not, neither does he know 
mine, but I shall always remember 
him with most pleasant recollec- 
tions. 

The journey from Way cross to 
Thomasville was passed in the 
ordinary day coaches. In them 
one came more directly In con- 
tact with the ordinary life of the 



TO SUxMMER 



25 



people. It was somewhat of a 
tedious journey, though there 
was quite enough to interest and 
amuse, nevertheless. 

On board was quite a sprinkling 
of returning soldiers, some listless 
and indifferent lookino-. Doubt- 
less, the horrors of drill camps, and 
the experience of hastily equipped 
troops under a tropic sun, had had 
their effect upon them. There was 
one tall, oaunt bov amono- them 



fc) 



with a fearful cough, who seemed 
able to make sport enough for 
all. Fever and consumption were 
marked upon his hollow cheeks, 
but nothing could dampen his good 
humor and energy. He was here, 
there, everywhere ; hail fellow, 



26 FROM SUMMER LAND 

well met, with everyone. Once, 
when a Chinaman entered the car 
and slipped quietly into his seat, 
the young soldier greeted him 
with derisive cries of " Washee, 
washee.'' I could not help lean- 
ing over and saying in a low voice 
to my young friend who was thus 

mockincr the stranger : " How 
<_> <_> 

would you like to be made game 
of if you were out in China?" 
The young man's own good heart 
made answer for him by his 
silence at my remark, and his 
further silence also toward the 
Chinaman for the rest of the 
journey. 

The hours sped on, taking us 
westward through the rich level 



TO SUM ME K 



27 



lands of southern Geor^^ia, until, 
in due time, we were once more 
at our rendezvous in Thomas- 
ville. 




Some Days in Thomasville 



A PILLARED porch, a garden all around, 

Tall whisp'ring trees, and glowing skies above, 
Long rose-lined alleys, breathing peace and love, 

Bright flowers and mocking-birds for sight and 
sound. 

A noble hall, whose space gives welcome sweet, 
To those who enter its wide-open door ; 
A hint it seems of that fair tranquil shore. 

Where loved ones welcome, and where angels 
greet. 

And then, " the many mansions " of the blest. 
What are they, but the chambers where we sleep ! 
In peaceful mystery of slumber deep, 

Each wrapped about, and tenderly caressed. 

A pillared porch, a garden all around, 

Where flowers and gracious deeds alike abound. 

J. IT. K. 





■^^^M 




Hi^^S^^^i^?^! 


9 


;?--*^ 


"^^Sll:.-:--Wv-^-w-r%'r 


*>- 








II 



Once more 
in T h o m a s - 
vllle, it was de- 
1 i g h t f u 1 to 
drive through 
the embowered 
streets, to the hos- 
pitable home which awaited me. 
There it stood, under its huge 
trees, in its fragrant garden ; and 
under the broad shadow of its pil- 
lared portico were my welcoming- 
friends. 

After the first few words of 
greeting were said it seemed that 



34 FROM SUMMER LAND 

one's first duty In coming from 
the North was at once to visit the 
roses and the flowers. There was 
a touch of melancholy in this gar- 
den ramble, for during the past 
winter an icy blast had blown 
from the dark depths of air, and 
had killed many of the choicest 
and exotic flowery shrubs. It was 
the biggest "freeze," everybody 
said, which had been known for 
years. The great creeper on the 
portico was no more. The per- 
fumed veil of its foliage had dis- 
appeared ; but nature is never dis- 
couraged. Already great shoots 
were striking up and out, and six 
inches, or more, in one night was 
no uncommon orowth. How cu- 



TO SUMMER 



35 



rious It would be if our ears were 
so acute as to be able to hear the 
impact of the increase in growing 
organisms, as the cells expand 
and atom joins on to atom. I 
have fancied, in a close night in 
August, that one could really hear 
the corn orrow during the dark 
stillness of the silent hours. It 
was all a series of fitful creaks and 
starts, and mysterious rustlings 
amoncr the tall stalks of the orrow- 
ing corn, while not a breath of air 
was moving ; and yet there was 
ever perceptible this strange " go- 
ing," as in the tops of the mul- 
berry trees, in the scripture story. 
Happy were the idle days passed 
under the sapphire sky of south- 



36 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



ern Georgia. There was nothing 
to do but lounge and drive, and 
rest in peace. I painted pictures 
for myself by the score, and all 
this without material canvas or 
color, or one movement of the 
body from the veranda chair. 

No artist could seize such pic- 
tures in their fleeting splendor, 
except with the sudden process of 
a photographic look. Thus, with 
my eyes for object glasses, and 
the dark chamber of the brain for 
camera obscura, I tried to capture 
all the beauties of earth and air 
which surrounded me. 

Up through the great masses of 
the evergreen oaks one could look 
at the skv, whose hue was of the 



TO SUiMMER 



37 



deepest blue imaginable, with a 
rich tone in it of surpassing soft- 
ness ; while floating across its 
illimitable depths were mountain- 
ous clouds, all creamy white and 
golden, suggestive of rest and re- 
pose, and tender, loving warmth. 
The whole picture as seen from 
that veranda chair was a delight 
for ever — the rich tone of the red- 
dish earth in the open roadway, 
the intermino-led areens of the 
herbage and shrubs, culminating in 
the dark masses of the oaks, out- 
lined against the sapphire sky, and 
the movincr masses of the reo-al 
clouds. From morn till night, 
from east, back again to east, this 
panorama of beauty was unfolding 



38 FROM SUMMER LAND 

itself. To enjoy it all no more 
was needed than the shifting of 
one's chair and the opening of 
one's eyes to the overwhelming 
splendor of it all. 

Another picture which I must 
preserve was a view over the Ock- 
loconee River. We came one day 
upon the stream, in one of our 
drives, and from the vantage 
eround of a tall bridcre we could 
take in the bizarre effect of the 
scene. The banks were wooded 
and precipitous. The tortuous 
river bed lay among sand banks 
almost white, against which the 
clear water, brown and transpar- 
ent as the complexion of a hand- 
some mulatto, lay in tranquil 



TO SUMMER 



39 



depths. These depths were veri- 
table mirrors for trees and clouds 
and skies, but the reflections in 
the water were all strangely 
changed. They appeared in a clear 
monochrome, as if painted in bitu- 
men. The whole effect was beauti- 
ful. Above was the clear blue sky, 
the vivid and varied green of the 
foliage, the broken ground of the 
banks in reddish tints, the sand 
banks oflitterino^ white in the sun- 
light ; while in the still depths of 
the water all was reflected in 
minute detail, but changed to this 
mysterious unity of uniform brown. 
Somebody has said of old-time 
landscape painters that their idea 
of green grass was the color 



40 FROM SUMMER LAND 

of an old violin. Here was just 
such a landscape, all painted by 
nature itself, in the depths of the 
Ockloconee. 

But one could not give all one's 
time to those pleasant reveries. 
The portico was the scene of 
many a pleasant call from South- 
ern friends, sorry to take their 
leave of pleasant neighbors, who 
in a day or two would leave this 
Southern summer land for the 
summer of their far-off Northern 
home. Such calls were delightful. 
What can be more enjoyable than 
the free, easy flow of refined con- 
versation, gliding on from topic 
to topic, as a clear stream winds 
through a landscape, reflecting the 



TO SUMMER 41 

form and color of all that moves 
or grows upon its banks ? Cer- 
tainly the Southern women have 
wonderful talents in this relation, 
and their soft voices and bright 
eyes give value and emphasis to 
their every utterance. 

I had a little experience with a 
very little lady during one of my 
strolls in the trarden. We were 
separated by the fence, the little 
lady and myself. She was playing 
with a big black dog, who, on the 
appearance of another dog follow- 
ing some colored men, heedlessly 
ran away from his little mistress. 
Disconsolately she called after 
him, " Nero, Nero," but he did 
not return. Then in louder 



42 FROM SUMMER LAND 

tones she called "Nigger, Nigger," 
at which her truant dog returned. 
My little friend explained to me 
that her dog was first called 
'' Nigger," but her mamma had 
changed it to "Nero," and that he 
did not know his name very well 
yet. I was amused at the adroit- 
ness which, by turning the dog's 
name into Italian, had preserved 
his identity and avoided a term 
which mieht eive offence. We had 
a orreat chat toorether. That was 
last spring. I told her where I 
had come from, and where we were 
bound for, at which her eager 
eyes opened wide. '* Well," said 
she, " there is one place in Phila- 
delphia I would like to see, and 



TO SUMMER 4^ 

that is Wanamaker's. They have 
everything; there." Then there 
was talk of all the toys there, and 
it ended by my promising her 
that when I got back to New 
York I would send her a little 
toy that I knew would please her, 
and that was a dear little doll baby 
in a bath tub, that she could wash 
and dress every time she wished. 
But alas, I lost the memorandum 
of her name, and the whole thine 
dropped from my memory until 
one day during this visit, looking 
up from the portico, I saw my 
dear little girl once more. After 
drawing her into conversation, and 
cautiously leading up to toys, she 
told me that last year ''an old 



44 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



man " had told her that he would 
send her a dolly in a bath tub 
from New York, and said she, 
with a melancholy far-off air, "He 
never did." I asked her if she 
thought I looked like that old 
man, and in an amazed and amused 
manner she said " You do ! " 

Well, it is needless to say that 
after I orot back to New York one 
of my first visits was to a toy 
shop, where I made my purchase 
and duly dispatched it by mail to 
my little friend. 

In due time this charmino- let- 
ter reached me in reply, full of 
kind feelinor and that flow of lan- 
guage ever a power on the lips of 
a Southern woman : 



TO SUMMER ^c 



Thomasville Ga 
5— 19— 1899— 
Rev J Harris Knowles 

Kind Friend you made a little South 
Georgia girl very happy the other day by 
sending her the sweet little doll and bath 
tub yes they came safe and sound and I 
thank you very much for them and shall 
keep them a long time 1 hope you had a 
Pleassant trip home and are all well it is 
very dry and hot and disty here now We 
have not had rain for a long time and the 
gardens are all dried up 1 hope to see 
you down here next winter I am going 
to read the book you wrote that Mama 
liked so well A Flight In Spring I spent 
four days last winter in New Orleans and 
liked it very much PaPa is taking out 
fresh honey every day wish you had some 
With kind wishes and many thanks I re- 
main your little Friend 

A. R. 



46 FROM sumimp:r land 

Amone the memorable drives 
during my few days at Thomasville 
was one out to the Country Club 
and another on the Magnolia Road. 

The Country Club stands on a 
high knoll from which one sees 
out over a rich wooded landscape 
of splendid vistas. The grounds 
are extensive, up hill and down 
dale in constant change. The 
golf grounds are gay during the 
winter season, and the mild cli- 
mate gives constant opportunity 
for out-door sports. The dark 
pools and knotted vines overhang- 
ing them, in the forest dells, were 
picturesque and mysterious, but 
in summer heats mioht not be 



nvitmcr. 



TO SUMMER 47 

The ride on Magnolia Road was 
one to be remembered. It was 
under the umbrageous trees. The 
roadway ahnost lost itself In the 
thickets ; the magnolia flowers 
were yet in bud, but the day was 
warm, and the lizards on the fence- 
posts, as they stuck out for the 
moment, like bits of dried bark, 
rieid and immovable, but ever 
ready to devour the passing flies, 
gave hint of that struggle for life 
which ever surrounds us, and 
which finds its most dreadful em- 
phasis In those lands which near 
themselves to the tropics. 

It seems to me that all life, es- 
pecially in its tragic aspects, in- 
creases in intensity as one nears 



48 FROM SUMMER LAND 

the equator. Here in Georgia, 
under the bright skies and the lan- 
guor of the clear atmosphere, there 
was the heavy feeling of a tragedy 
just past, the culminating horror 
of many such. The public prints 
from the ereat centres were full 
of fearful details, but the local 
paper, with rare good sense, 
omitted all these, yet, nevertheless, 
the lurid horror stared us In the 
face for all that. 

The consciousness of that trag- 
edy at Newnan, Georgia, which 
took place under the light of the 
Sunday just past, filled one with 
sorrow — sorrow first and foremost 
for the good people of Georgia 
— the gentle, the just, the wise, 



TO SUMMER ^g 

as, held in the grip of an inevi- 
table destiny, they have to face 
the fearfid complications of their 
surroundings. My thoughts re- 
verted to the crowds of colored 
people, in increasing numbers, 
which I saw as I came farther 
South. They lounged about the 
depots ; they lolled from the win- 
dows in the streets of the little 
towns ; they seemed to wear a heed- 
less, defiant air or to bear them- 
selves with a coarse indifference 
so apparently foreign to the usual 
confiding and yielding nature of 
the negro. It was dreadful. 

Over ao^ainst all this one could 
put the indomitable will of the yet 
master race, which ever must mas- 

4 



50 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



ter or die, and the dreadful com- 
plications possible in Southern life 
under all these conditions. I con- 
fess that my heart was in my 
mouth, in the sympathy which 
was within me ; sympathy for 
those who had inherited these 
complications, and who had to face 
the fearful problems which con- 
fronted them ; sympathy for the 
white people of the South, with 
all the burthen which they have 
to bear. 

But there was sympathy too for 
the colored man. I could not but 
note the difficulties of his sad fate, 
and how hopeless seems his out- 
look, notwithstanding what he 
may accomplish for his own ad- 



TO SUMMER ci 

vancement. He has clone much. 
He has achieved wonders In his 
own development. The world has 
not seen a parallel condition to 
that Avhich has passed under our 
eyes during the last thirty years. 
No enslaved race, suddenly freed, 
could have accomplished so much 
as the colored people have in 
their educational progress in these 
United States. But the tragedy 
of it all is that this progress does 
not smooth away difficulties in 
social conditions, but rather em- 
phasizes them. 

It may be that political issues 
work much harm in the mutual re- 
lations between whites and blacks 
in the South. Time must be then 



52 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



the o^reat healer. Meanwhile one 
must admit that it is a fearful thing 
to be ever brought face to face 
with a constantly increasing factor 
in the social state, compared with 
which the dangerous and iornorant 
portions of our Northern commu- 
nities, even in our most crowded 
cities, are as nothing. It is a ter- 
rible thing to exploit the colored 
masses of the South for any party 
ends whatever. It should be 
frowned down by all true lovers of 
our country. 

Turnino- from these troubled 
thoughts I have a lovely memory 
of some happy colored people I 
met. What could be better than 
their clean content, their white 



TO SUMMER 



53 



floors, their spotless bedspreads, 
their daintily dressed windows, and 
the glittering array of their kitch- 
ens ! They had their gardens too, 
where roses crrew as well as vecfe- 
tables, the onion and the sweet pea 
side by side, the nsefnl and the 
beautifnl. Proudly the mistress of 
the establishment showed us the 
completed ambition of her needle 
— a silk patchwork which took the 
prize at the county fair. There 
was a touch of pathos in her words 
when she told us that she got the 
blue ribbon all right for that, and 
her preserves, but the mone)' prize 
w^as omitted, for ''there war'nt any." 
As to the preserves, these were 
veritable works of art, I suppose 



54 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



never to be eaten, but to be looked 
at with awe. What triumph there 
was as the great crystal jars were 
placed In our hands for our Inspec- 
tion ! There were preserved water- 
melon rind ?#id cantelopes, all 
carved over in intaglio, showing 
fishes and leaves and graceful or- 
naments. It was really artistic. 
When I asked Mrs. B. how she did 
it, she answered with a laugh, "Oh, 
I jes' did it," and that was all one 
could elicit. I was much interested 
in this display of taste in its double 
sense, taste for the sweets and 
taste for the clever ornamentation 
thereon. 

I afterwards learned that among 
the colored people there is always 



TO SUMMER 



55 



a great reluctance to tell the proc- 
ess by which they accomplish 
anything. There is a sort of super- 
stition that if they tell they lose 
the knack themselves for ever. 
This idea has place, if I mistake 
not, in a far wider circle than the 
negro race, and may be at the bot- 
tom of trade secrets. 

Among my many pleasant im- 
pressions of Thomasville the happy 
home of these faithful colored peo- 
ple, trusting and trusted servants, 
is not the least. 

There is no race that is so 
amenable to kindness as our negro 
population. What but this suscep- 
tibility can explain the loyalty of 
the Southern slaves durine the 



5 6 FKOM SUMMER LAND TO SUMMER 

trying years from 1862 to 1865? 
Everything- on the plantations 
was then in their hands, but then 
the colored people, in their posi- 
tion of trust, were the protectors, 
the providers, the loving support 
of those they looked up to and 
respected. There was no violence, 
no outrage, no fearful crime. 
There was a bond of mutual de- 
pendence and respect. 

Despite of all present difficul- 
ties, if I mistake not, the Southern 
people have even now more kindly 
feeling instinctively to the negroes 
than the people of the North, for 
they know them better, are accus- 
tomed to them, and understand 
them. 



Through Georgia 



Despite of all the glory of the State, 
The swelling billows of the fertile land, 
Wealth like of India, or of Samarcand, 

Yet did my heart at times feel desolate. 

Who shall unwind the knots of dreadful fate, 
W^ho shall mete justice out with even hand. 
Who shall with power, all evil men withstand, 

Who shall defend the honor of the State ! 

O land of Whitheld, Wesley, Oglethorpe, 
O land where mercy was a corner-stone, 
Think lujt that blood, rash spilt, can e'er atone. 

The pang of mercy may be keen and sharp. 
And stricken hearts may weep and sadly moan. 
But love, and justice, can prevail alone. 

T. II. K. 




Ill 



Our passage 
through Georgia, 
that Empire State 
of the South, was 
something to be re- 
membered. 

As we travelled 

northward and west- 

h-.if.,i/r . *>.^v? ward from Thomas- 

ville in the south, to Chattanooga 
just over the line of the State, in 
Tennessee, we traversed the three 
great zones of Georgia — the great 
sandy plain which rises gradually 
from the Atlantic sea coast, ex- 



64 FROM SUMMER LAND 

tending- as far as Macon ; then, a 
hilly and diversified region, look- 
ing like a pleasant and healthy 
district ; and lastly, the mountain- 
ous country, which has its culmi- 
nation on Lookout Mountain in 
Tennessee. 

The impression made upon one 
by this great journey of more than 
three hundred miles was that one 
was looking at an empire in very 
truth. In the north were moun- 
tain fastnesses, picturesque and 
even sublime. Here were the 
sources of the two principal rivers 
which traverse the land. Here 
were rich mineral deposits, gold 
even having been found in paying 
quantities in the past. Here, too, 



TO SUMMER 65 

were the scenes of some of the 
highest developments of life 
amoncr the American Indians, but, 
above all other causes of interest, 
this vast and romantic recrion was 
the scene of the bloodiest and 
most deadly contests between the 
North and South during- the Civil 
War. 

Through all this great Empire 
State, with its history and vast re- 
sources, we made our flying trip, 
resting only once at Atlanta, and 
once again, just at the northern 
entrance of the State, in Chatta- 
nooga, Tennessee. 

We saw with our eyes what the 
books tell us — that Georgia can 
produce everything that all the 



66 FROM SUMMER LAND 

States of the Union can produce, 
with the exception of a few semi- 
tropical products pecuHar to the 
neighboring State of Florida. 

We travelled northward through 
the great sandy, pine-clad plain, 
rich in its timber and also capable 
of profitable cultivation, until dark- 
ness settled down upon us. When 
morning dawned we were in a hilly 
reo^ion of rich red loam, somewhat 
exhausted, we were told, by suc- 
cessive crops, but yet capable of 
profitable cultivation. 

This part of the State has a cer- 
tain grandiose air about it. The 
billowy lines of the ever-ascending 
hills, with the constant evidences 
of ao-riculture all about one, eave 



TO SUMMER 67 

an Idea of largeness and propor- 
tionate prosperity which we hoped 
was realized in fact. The whole 
country had a character of its 
own— broad, breezy, and luminous. 
Somehow, one forgot to look out 
for houses or towns or stations as 
our way wound through this great 
full-breasted country, so rich and 
opulent-looking in its possibili- 
ties. 

I noticed one peculiarity in the 
ao-riculture which set me think- 
incT It was this : Through all the 
Stretches of ploughed land through 
which we passed I could not find a 
field with a straight, even furrow. 
The traces left by the ploughshare 
were all in curved lines. Every 



68 FROM SUMMER LAND 

hillside, every bending area, had 
its curved lines upon it. They fol- 
lowed the slightest deviation of the 
surface from a dead level. Even 
where the field was flat, there too 
the lines would curve in a way that 
Avould bring horror to the heart 
of a Northern farmer. I watched 
these graceful tattooings on the 
earth's surface with a curious inter- 
est. On some of the hillsides the 
plough marks were as involved al- 
most as the peculiar lines which 
each man carries on the end of 
his thumb. 

I asked some people I met what 
was the cause of this peculiarity, 
and was told that this variation 
from the straight line was probably 



TO SUMMER 69 

to prevent washouts on the hill- 
sides. But that did not seem rea- 
sonable to me, for the graceful 
curvatures were everywhere. The 
field might be as flat as a table, 
but the ploughshare wabbled round 
there just the same ; and a straight 
line in a furrow in Georgia was as 
hard to find as a straight line any- 
where in nature's great handi- 
work, whether in plant, animal, or 
man. 

I fell back finally upon a theory 
of my own as to the cause of 
all these graceful curves in the 
ploughed fields of Georgia. They 
are, said I, the results of the in- 
stinctively artistic temperament of 
the neero workman. He loves 



70 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



rhythmic motion. It exists in his 
speech, in his songs, in his gait — 
there is something repugnant to 
him in the monotony of a straight 
line. He never will follow it. He 
prefers the variation from the in- 
flexible. He hates rules and all 
routine, and relieves himself in the 
tediousness of agricultural labor 
by those artistic curves which the 
ploughshare in his hands is made 
to produce. The sign-manual of 
a nature pleasure-loving, indeter- 
minate, ever liahteninor labor with 
an instinctive sense of beauty, lies 
all over the State of Georgia. 

How different it was in Tennes- 
see ; how much more marked the 
straight line was in Virginia! How 



TO SUMMER 71 

clean and clear it cleaves through 
the soil of New England, or 
stretches its vast parallels on our 
Western prairies ! How exact it 
is on the ploughed lands of our 
Old Home, finding its most exact 
conditions when the ploughshare 
is guided by the firm hand and 
cool head of a Scotch farmer on 
the fields of Ayrshire or the slopes 
of Midlothian! 

I believe that the curved furrows 
of Georgia tell us deep truths of 
racial peculiarities, worthy of our 
earnest study. To plough, and 
keep ploughing, a straight furrow 
requires steady persistence, an in- 
telligent, resolute will, and a power 
of concentration — all which quali- 



72 



FKOiM SUMMER LAND 



ties pertain especially to superior 
races of men.* 

We were prepared to find in 
Atlanta, Georgia, where we stayed 
over a day, a thoroughly wide- 
awake place. It is a typical centre 
of the new South. When one 
sees the handsome avenues of 
well-built mansions, and the busy 
streets in the business portions of 
the city, it is hard to realize that 
the ravages of war had passed 
over the place, not so long since, 
with both fire and sword, and 
almost razed it to the ground. 

* My theory of line variation is worth a 
thought, but since writing the above, I have 
been again assured by a Georgian that the 
curved furrows were to prevent washouts, and 
to conserve moisture. 



TO SUMMER 73 

The enterprise and spirit of the 
Httle place rather surprises some 
other towns in Georgia. It is 
considered a clear case of bluff, 
and the audacity which conceived 
the "World's Fair" Exposition, 
recently held there, and for which 
" an appropriation " was asked 
and obtained, completely took the 
breath away from less progressive 
centres. 

We went out to the exposition 
grounds, and saw them in their 
melancholy decay. Exposed laths 
and broken plaster dispelled the 
magnificent illusion of " marble 
palaces and cloud-capped towers." 
But one could imagine the stage 
all set and the crowd playing 



74 



P^ROM SUMMER LAND 



"World's Fair" to their own sat- 
isfaction, and the Hnlng of some 
pockets at least. 

Even in Its decay one could see 
what a really good thing It must 
have been, and though as nothing 
to the Columbian Exposition, yet 
it was a surprising success within 
its own limits. 

It was curious to see a faded 
tympanum on the fagade of one 
of the buildings, with the gods of 
Greece and the myths of the 
ancients still dominating the in- 
tellect and art of this our modern 
day. It Is the Infinitesimal which 
has undying potency. Little 
Greece and little Athens, with her 
ereat men and greater artists, a 



TO SUMMER 



75 



mere handful amid the myriads of 
the world, still rule over us in 
aesthetic relations and vitalize all 
that we have of artistic conception 
or power. 

Our day at Atlanta coincided 
with Memorial Day, when the 
South yearly renews her devotion 
to her sleeping soldiers. In the 
morning of that day we extended 
our excursion beyond the site of 
the exposition through the resi- 
dence portion of the town out to 
Grant Park and to the site of the 
old Confederate fort, on a com- 
manding eminence, where the 
cannon remain as they did in 
those days of strife, which we 
trust can never again be renewed. 



;6 FROM SUMMER LAND 



It is a thrilling thing to stand 
on a site, made dreadful and sacred 
both, by the blood of men ; to 
bring before one's mind, under 
that calm, peaceful sky above one, 
that on that very spot were tur- 
moil and encounter, the clash of 
arms, and the tread of death. 

We returned to the centre of 
the little city and passed some 
hours just lounging about the 
streets. The Memorial Day pro- 
cession was to come off later on in 
the afternoon, and hot as the day 
was we determined to see It. The 
papers gave the names of the vari- 
ous notables who took part, the 
order of their precedence, and the 
various organizations marching in 



TO SUMMER 



77 



the lines. But I preferred to look 
on as an utter stranger and take 
in the impression of the moment. 

It was worth noticing- how in- 
tense and real the interest was 
in the whole proceeding. Flags 
were everywhere, the Union flag, 
of course, on all buildings, but 
in the hands of the people on 
the streets and in the line were 
small Confederate flags of various 
styles. I tried in vain to find one 
to purchase in the stores ; there 
were none on sale. 

At last the procession hove 
in sight, and at the head was a 
marked and stern fio-ure. He was 
cheered to the echo, and bowed 
right and left with chevalier-like 



78 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



grace. His empty sleeve, pinned 
to his breast, told the story. The 
ease with which he managed his 
spirited horse with one hand re- 
vealed his power. His gaunt, thin 
face, prominent nose, determined 
eyebrows, and well-marked cheek 
bones, all told their tale of daring, 
endurance, and persistence. But 
his staff was more interesting even 
than himself. It consisted of 
striplings, each a six-footer, each 
easy and erect in his saddle, each 
a soldier, and yet little more than 
a boy. On they followed their old 
scarred leader. He was bowing 
right and left, but they were im- 
passive, eyes to the front, immov- 
able, sword at rest, young eaglets, 



TO SUMMER 



79 



with all the blood, brain, and brav- 
ery of the old bird before them. 

There were various military 
companies, cavalry and infantry, 
amonor the latter a colored retri- 
ment, loudly applauded. The line 
was swelled with various civic or- 
ganizations, all bearing flowers 
and wreaths to deck the orraves of 
the departed. This duty was not 
left alone to the military. A dis- 
tinguishing and pleasing part of 
the procession was a lengthy and 
double line of carriages, filled with 
ladies, who were to take their part 
in the memorial services of the 
day. It gave one's heart a tug to 
see the mourning garb of some, 
their silvered hair and their bent 



'8o FROM SUMMER LAND 

forms; but love was undying with- 
in them. The young, too, were 
with them to ensure the continu- 
ance of the same love when they 
were gone. O, how women's 
hearts are ever true to departed 
memories ! It was deligrhtful, here 
in Atlanta, to see that the place 
was not too big to thrust out from 
its Memorial Day procession the 
loving hands of the truly gentle, 
as well as the truly bereaved. 

The great procession passed on, 
with music and flowers, and the 
combined flacrs of the Union and 
the Confederacy; the first, a glori- 
ous fact, more loved than ever, 
the other, a memory, but cher- 
ished and revered for its very dar- 



TO SUMMER 8 I 

ing-, the symbol of a cause whose 
success would have been ruin, but 
whose overthrow was nevertheless 
bitter at the time. 

Out of that bitterness has come 
the new wine of a recognized and 
national life, and in that life may 
Atlanta, and all the South, ever 
flourish. 

At night we drew out of the city 
and by morning we were " through 
Georgia," and at Chattanooga in 
Tennessee. 

6 




;T-**f-^-. 



y(^ fmh. 



Chattanoopfa 



An altar high within the land, 

Where erstwhile foes stand hand in hand, 

Tears now unite — They understand. 

The love of country each inspired, 
With honor high each soul was tired, 
The fame of each, by each, is quired. 

An altar tomb within the land, 
To martyred dead, a glorious band, 
Whom all can claim, hand grasped in hand. 

T. H. K. 




IV 

j ^ Jt Chattanooga, 

; • 4^' 9^ j ^1 s t over the 

^^.^■l^Hlij^ northern border 

.^.^. of Georgia, in 

Tennessee, is a 

place filled with 

interest. 

It lies at the foot of Lookout 

Mountain, and is in the centre of 

scenes ever memorable in the 

history of the United States. 

From this point one can go to 
the battle-fields of Chickamauga, 
Missionary Ridge, Orchard Knob, 
and Lookout Mountain ; and when 



88 FROM SUMMER LAND 

one speaks of these sites, he 
speaks not merely of locaHtles, 
but of places which would be in- 
teresting even if the raven wing 
of war had never overshadowed 
them. Nature here is lavish in 
the immense, in the picturesque, 
in the inspiring ; but when one 
adds to this the fact that only 
thirty-six years ago, in the short 
space of three months and nine 
days, 34,000 men laid down their 
lives here, within the radius of 
one's glance, as one stands on 
Lookout Mountain, then, indeed, 
the whole place seems filled with 
ghosts. One is thrilled by the 
vast expanse of the view ; but 
the deeper thrill is that of one's 



TO SUMMER 



89 



soul, as the eye within sees not 
the landscape merely, but the 
strife, the tumult, the shouts of 
battle, and the garments steeped 
In blood. 

It all seemed Incredible as one 
looked out over that great expanse 
of the fair surface of the earth. 
How could blood have been spilt 
under such a sky? How could 
men, on those inspiring mountain 
heights, hurl each other down the 
declivities to certain death ? Yet 
so It was. The very clouds which 
hung upon the mountains, cover- 
ing both armies, seemed loath to 
lift themselves from the serried 
lines, obscured from each other 
by the merciful mists of heaven. 



90 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



But time moved on inexorably, 
and the clear light came, and 
brothers slew each other, until 
niofht acrain came down to hide 
from each their awful work. 

Yes, it was glory, it was bravery, 
it was the noble offering of a na- 
tion's best blood ; but though it 
was all this, it need not have been. 
So at least one may venture to 
think ; but the craee of war was 
thrown down, and the delirium of 
that fearful madness must needs 
have its end. 

It was then, with hearts attuned 
to the unseen influences of all that 
historic reality, that we went out 
to see it all, as it is to-day. 

The town of Chattanooga, a 



TO SUMMER 



91 



railroad centre of no mean Impor- 
tance, the site of several large in- 
dustrial establishments, presented 
an animated appearance. Its well- 
paved streets, attractive residences, 
and general air of prosperity gave 
one pleasure. It was a mere out- 
post before the war, but ever since 
the dawn of peace it has gone on 
increasing in importance as the 
years fly by. It bids fair to be 
always an attractive centre, com- 
mercially and socially. Commer- 
cially it is the gateway to the 
great railroad systems of the South; 
socially it is already attractive as 
affordinof both a summer and winter 
residence amid scenes of romantic 
beauty and historic interest. 



92 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



Our first point was up to the 
top of Lookout Mountain. We 
made this ascent by one of the 
IncHned railways, of ahiiost per- 
pendicular grade, having near its 
termination an ascent of sixty- 
seven feet in one hundred. One 
has an instinctive tendency to 
cling pretty closely to the seats 
in this section of the incline ; for, 
as one looks out over the vast 
landscape beneath one, it would 
seem as if an uneasy jerk would 
spill the passengers into space. 

We made the upward journey 
with perfect safety and great ra- 
pidity. One would have preferred 
the leisurely ascent, by the con- 
tinuous windings of the well-kept 



The Incline, ("hnttanooo^a 



'p^g! : 


t»~j 


'- '-fc=^. ■ \ 


1 


\\ ^ 


\ '.':t 


■ '"^ •• 




^ :f 




■#' 






■' -i^ 




TO SUMMER 95 

military road, but that would take 
up too much time. Once on the 
great mountain plateau we were 
unmindful of aught else but the 
historic memories we had brought 
with us, and the noble expanse 
which spread itself out at our feet. 

An old neero was our cicerone 
for the occasion. He had been 
all through the war, he said, and 
told us with his soft voice his story 
of the battles, which I have com- 
pletely forgotten. The one thing 
which sticks to me is that, while 
speaking of other military heroes 
as gen'ral this, or gen'ral that, he 
always spoke of Grant as Gia^it 
Grant. 

It was hopeless to get from him 



96 FROM SUMMER LAND 

any clear idea of the lines of at- 
tack and defence, except in a most 
scattered way. It was better to 
give one's self up to the scene, and 
let imagination work. 

As far as possible the positions 
of the various regiments engaged 
in the several battles have been 
determined, and marked by suit- 
able monumental stones and 
bronze tablets. The whole vast 
extent of the battle sites has been 
thus marked by loving and patriotic 
hands. But these waymarks of 
history require for their present 
use a previous knowledge of the 
whole campaign and the actors 
therein, which everyone does not 
possess. 



TO SUMMER 



97 



It was delightful, however, to 
think that at the close of the war 
both sides united at once in the 
respectful and reverential duty of 
thus identifying these historic 
localities. The eleven Federal 
and eleven Confederate States 
whose troops were engaged here 
in mortal combat have united to 
conserve their dust, to perpetuate 
their names, and to preserve the 
memories of their patriotism and 
bravery. 

Not only have battle monuments 
been raised by these States to the 
brave departed, but the bodies of 
the slain have been lovingly gath- 
ered and laid to sleep beneath the 
green sward of vast cemeteries, 



98 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



whose grace and beauty speaks 
ever of peace. 

Through cemetery after ceme- 
tery we drove, each one more 
beautiful than the other, and this 
beauty came not from any mere- 
tricious ornamentation or park 
o^ardeninof. It was rather the re- 
suit of nature's own sympath)'. It 
came from the rich green sward, 
from the over-arching trees, and 
from that air of sombre magnifi- 
cence which the great spaces pre- 
sented. 

In no other nation, if I mistake 
not, could one find such evidences 
of <£rateful love, to officers and 
soldiers alike, as one finds in our 
national military cemeteries, wher- 



TO SUMMER 99 

ever they are found. This is more 
touchingly manifested where the 
very battle-field itself or its imme- 
diate vicinity has been selected for 
such lovincr remembrance. Here 
at Chattanooga the rank and file, 
as well as generals and officers, 
were all individually commemo- 
rated. Whether under the mas- 
sive monument, or in the narrow 
grave, the individual man was re- 
membered. His name and style 
were there encrraven. But love 
did not stay even at this. There 
were many soldiers left unidenti- 
fied. The tramp of battle and 
the rapid sweep of the succeeding 
hours often removed all traces of 
likeness, and made recognition 



lOO FROM SUMMER LAND 

impossible. To gather all those up 
and put them in one common 
grave would have seemed enough 
to some, but that did not suffice 
the love that followed their fate 
and mourned for them. Hence 
it is, that the most touching sights 
in Chattanooga Cemetery are the 
sweeping curves of the nameless 
graves which mark the last resting 
places of the unknown dead. 

Unknown they were, but their 
personal identity, even though un- 
known, was respected and hon- 
ored. There was nothing that 
touched me more in the national 
cemetery than those graves. The 
manner in which they were placed, 
the sense of beauty in the great 



TO SUMMER loi 

curving lines in which the)' lay, 
all told a story of loving and ten- 
der sentiment not met with, I 
think, under other skies. 

It would have been pleasant to 
linger for days at Chattanooga, 
to inspect its industries of iron 
and lumber, its manufactories of 
farming implements and other in- 
dustries, to visit its many churches, 
and schools, and know more of its 
growing life, but we had to hurry 
on, despite even of some pressing 
invitations to tarry longer. 

It would have been a delight to 
have taken a leisurely outlook over 
all those historic sites, and intelli- 
gently to trace out how battles 
were lost and won. We had, 



02 FROM SUMMER LAND TO SUMMED 



however, seen enough to Inspire 
our souls with thoughts of glory 
and of country, and to fill our 
imagination with the idea that 
Lookout Mountain 
was as a great altar 
set up in the midst 
of our land, ever 
sacred to union 
and to peace, 
u p o n w h i c h a 
precious offering 
had been placed 
by the \\^ hole 
nation, which 
would make an- 
other such war 
between brethren, 
forever impossible. 




Hot Springs, Virginia 



From the dark depths of earth 

Come genial, living springs ; 
Like angels from the vast profound 

With healing on their wings. 

From the mysterious deep 

Which eye hath never seen ; 
The healing waters issue forth, 

Translucent, clear, serene. 

They come to heal, to bless, 

To give us joy for pain ; 
To tell us that in every deep, 

Is blessing, for our gain. 

Out of the deep of woe, 

Can come the balm of peace ; 
Out of the deep of death. 

For every ill, surcease. 

J. H. K. 



The Watorfal 




V 



We went by 
night through 
the picturesque 
f regions of east 
Tennessee, and 
doubtless missed 
much thereby. I had heard from 
my hunting friend, whom I met 
on his way to Florida, many inter- 
estinof thinors about this wild coun- 
try and its primitive inhabitants. 

To their unsophisticated nature 
the leo^islation which restricts the 
free transmutation of corn into 
whiskey seems a most unreason- 



I08 FROM SUMMER LAND 

able proceeding. For the original 
bushel of the simple corn they 
can procure but a trifling and 
fluctuating price ; but for the dis- 
tilled juice thereof they can always 
command a ready and eager mar- 
ket, and obtain an ever so much 
larger income. 

The light of day, when excise 
officers are on the alert, is not as 
welcome to them as the hours 
when moonlio-ht casts its shadows. 
Hence, I presume, their name of 
" Moonshiners," which in this 
poetic fashion refers to their con- 
cealed and illicit traffic. 

A man travellincr in these re- 
gions must be ready at a moment's 
notice to answer very clearly as 



TO SUMMER 109 

to what his business is, where he 
comes from, and whither he is 
eoine. Woe betide him if there 
is any mystery in his movements, 
or if he cannot clear his skirts of 
any suspicion of being- an excise- 
man. 

The traffic in these spirits of 
the niorht is carried on with a fine 
sense of honor. A man leaves his 
jug, with the necessary money, at a 
certain place, and in the silence 
and mystery of darkness his ves- 
sel, filled, is left in his outhouse, or 
barn, or some convenient spot 
where it is sure to be found. It is 
all very rude and simple, and I sup- 
pose in a certain sense immoral, 
but it is very interesting-. 



no FROM SUMMER LAND 

My hunting- friend told me of 
an old aunt of his who lived in 
those parts. She was a grand 
dame of the old school, and lived 
in fine state. At her death it was 
my friend's duty to settle her 
estate. As they overhauled her 
premises they found demijohn 
after demijohn tucked away in all 
sorts of places. They were all 
full, untouched ; and when the 
caretaker of the place was asked 
for an explanation of such singu- 
lar storage, his answer was, that 
the old lady was so anxious to 
keep the whiskey away from him, 
that every demijohn she could lay 
hands on she hid thus away. 

It is no wonder that such re- 



TO SUMMER 



I I I 



gions and such people give mate- 
rial for some of our best native 
romances written. We were sorry 
we could not see them all at closer 
view. 

In due time we left the main 
line of the railroad, and made the 
ascent on the very steep and very 
select railway leading to the cele- 
brated Hot Springs in Virginia. 

The ride was interesting, even 
after all the experiences of the 
Far West and Colorado. There 
was no such wildness or orandeur 
as one sees there, but yet it was 
all inspiring and beautiful. 

We nestled down for the night, 
in that narrow mountain fastness, 
enjoying the comfort of our private 



112 FROM SUMMER LAND 

car, but not before we had made a 
little tour of observation, taking in, 
as far as possible, all the advan- 
tages of the place. The hot 
springs in use are all enclosed in 
a spacious bath-house, imme- 
diately connecting with the New 
Homestead Hotel. Next day we 
made experience of the baths, and 
certainly nothing could be better 
than the warm and beautifully 
crystalline, greenish water, clear 
and pure as the air. The bathing- 
facilities are splendid and tasteful, 
without any luxurious display, or 
suggestion even of voluptuous- 
ness. The lavish clear flow of the 
warm waters was delightful, and 
it seemed that it must be a 



TO SUMMER I 13 



fountain of health to all who 
could try to make their inner lives 
'as clean as its cleansing flood. 
There were lithia springs also, with 
gushing streams of silver, good to 
drink and drink again. 

The surrounding country is 
somewhat bleak, roueh and moun- 
tainous. This might possibly bore 
some people who would miss bus- 
tle and crowds, but to anyone who 
loved nature, who could walk or 
ride on those mountain paths, 
nothing could give more perfect 
rest than this orood hotel in its 
wild fastness, with these healing- 
springs, and this mountain air, 
mild and comfortino- alike in win- 
ter w^eather or in summer shine. 

8 



114 FROM SUMMER LAND 



This bleakness and roughness 
of aspect, however, is nothing but 
the grim appearance, which we 
might attribute to some fabled 
dragon on guard at the portal of a 
concealed paradise. Before the 
venturesome the monster flees. 
We found such a paradise in an 
excursion we made to one of the 
many picturesque valleys in this 
mountain stretch. We drove in 
under the crreat trees until we 
were close to the dancing stream, 
which ran gayly on its course 
through the valley, leaping from 
rock to rock for our pleasure and 
diversion. 

It was delightful to stray along 
the banks and to clamber out 



TO SUMMER J J c 

upon the rocks amid the turmoil 
of the torrent, and watch the cata- 
ract descend from crae to crao- 
behind the veil of foliage which 
obscured and yet enhanced its 
beauty. 

There is a feminine grace in all 
such beautiful scenes. The ex- 
quisite forms of the waving cur- 
rent, the crystal depths of the 
silent pools, the reflected lights 
within them of the heavens above, 
the fresh pure sparkle of the danc- 
ing waves, the snowy purity of 
the descending torrent, the fresh- 
ness of the living foliage, the 
happy life of birds and flowers, 
all made glad by the presence of 
the stream, sugorest the feminine 



I i6 FROM SUMMER LAND 

idea, which ever gives Hfe and grace 
and beauty to that which without 
it would be but a barren wilderness. 

We got back from our excursion 
as evening fell down on the sur- 
rounding mountains, and after din- 
ner passed some pleasant hours in 
the spacious parlors of the New 
Homestead Hotel. There, to our 
surprise and pleasure, we met some 
dear friends from New York. 

This reminds me that during the 
day, as I was lounging about at 
the Springs, I saw approaching me 
a splendid-looking swell, gotten up 
in the highest style of riding cos- 
tume — great baggy corduroys, with 
close-fitting leather leggings, a 
jaunty hat, a smart coat, and a 



TO SUMMEK 



117 



riding whip in liis hand. He was 
fair and florid, and well set up, 
with a flaunting- yellow moustache 
of grand proportions, and had a 
general air of being excessively 
healthy and happy. 

As this splendid vision came 
near me I ventured to crive it a 
quiet and direct glance ; when 
from the clear blue eyes came a 
look of recognition, and from the 
laughing mouth the words, "Well, 
if this isn't Canon Knowles ! " My 

reply was : "M , what on earth 

are you doing here?" 

He soon told me that he was 
the riding-master at the hotel ; that 
he had been at Hot Springs for 
quite a time. Here, said I to my- 



Il8 FROM SUMMER LAND 

self, Is the right man in the right 
place at last. I had met him in 
New York, and admired his splen- 
did appearance. He always seemed 
to me too manly and intelligent for 
the limited sphere in which he had 
found employment. It rejoiced 
me, then, to see him here, in his 
free, outdoor life and congenial oc- 
cupation, which brought into full 
play the manly qualities so well 
developed on the genial soil of his 
native Ireland. I am sure that 
such a splendid fellow as this must 
be popular with his pupils, earnest 
and steady as he is, as well as gen- 
tle and polite. 

In the early hours of the morn- 
inuf we descended the mountains 



TO SUMMER 



119 



and reached once more the main 
Hne, where we had to wait some 
hours for our train connection. 
Our stopping place was a wide 
plain, almost "Western" in its ex- 
tent. There a city was to have 
been built. The name eiven thereto 
was suggestive of the foundations 
of all greatness. Speculation ran 
high ; all was to be on a grand 
scale; and the little old villaee not 
far off cowered before the advent 
of the mighty city. But it never 
came. It was all shrunk up to noth- 
ing, or nearly so, and a weather- 
beaten street-car line, run by mule 
power, was the connecting link be- 
tween the dead city and the living 
old hamlet away in the hills. 



I20 FROM SUMMER LAND 

It would be sadly interesting if 
one could read the whole story of 
such a venture and its ultimate 
failure. 

While we were waiting under 
the burninofsun our car was an ob- 
ject of attraction to the boys play- 
ing about. Bright, clear-eyed little 
fellows they were, straight up and 
down, and independent. It was 
amusine to see the nonchalant 
way they interviewed us. They 
climbed upon the steps, they stood 
on the platform at the end, they 
entered and sat down ; but all was 
done so undemonstratively and 
with such manly ease that we could 
not object. 

We were interested in these little 



TO SUMMER 



121 



Virginians — so manly, so simple, 
and so gentlemanly. There was 
nothing whatever boisterous or 
rude about them. They brought 
us wild flowers, and were not eager 
for remuneration. They waved us 
a farewell polite- 
ly as our car sped 
away. 

It took us 
many long hours 
to reach Luray, 
where late in the 
evening we en- 
tered the mystic 
regions under- 
ground, of which 
we will tell in the 
next chapter. 




Luray Cavern 



Within the Holy Place of God 
The light of day did never shine ; 

As if to tell that earthly light, 
He needed not within His shrine. 

For light and dark to Him are one, 
He seeth where no light can be ; 

And where no mortal eye can peer, 
He works with wondrous symmetry. 

The crystal in the darkness dim, 

The gem within the depths of earth. 

The treasures of the unseen world, 

Have each and all with Him their birth. 

Thus, in this cavern huge and vast, 
And wondrous, with its splendors rare. 

The darkness witnesses the truth. 
That God was ever working there. 

T. H. K. 




VI 



It was nicrht 
when we reached 
the old-fash- 
ioned village of 
Luray, but that 
ni a d e the en- 
trance into the 
famous caverns 
more romantic still. 

Although the regular season 
had not opened we were most 
courteously met by the superin- 
tendent of the caves, an omni- 
bus was placed at our disposal, 
and through the long, straggling 



128 FROM SUMMER LAND 

village street we drove out a mile 
to the hillside entrance of the 
underground wonders. 

Even in the dark it was a beau- 
tiful ride. The dimly lit village 
streets and the lights of homes 
seen through open windows were 
pleasant. The clear obscure of 
the open country under the stars 
had also its charms. Away east- 
ward a huge conflagration was 
blazine on the distant mountains. 
In our eyes it seemed something 
terrible, but to our guide it was 
but a prosaic affair — only some 
folks burnino- out the underbrush 
to let the grass grow upon the 
mountains for the cattle thereon. 
Commonplace as its origin might 



TO SUMMER 



129 



have been it was a splendid illu- 
mination, nevertheless, and added 
to our enjoyment. 

The guide was a charming fel- 
low, with a refined good face. He 
was kindness itself to us, and took 
all pains possible in showing us 
the wonders of the caverns. His 
gentlemanliness was manifest in 
every turn. The fiames in the 
far distance suggested to my mind 
the long past warlike scenes of 
the Shenandoah Valley in which 
we then were. I asked our euide 
if he had recollections of those 
bitter days. " Yes," said he, " I 
remember them well. It was 
nothing but trouble for years. 
We scarcely knew how to get 



I30 FROM SUMMER LAND 

bread for our families, or how to 
keep it if we had it. We were 
run over by both armies, time and 
time again, until we were sick of 
our lives." There was an infinite 
pathos in his introspective look, as 
he brought up the memories of 
the past which the blazing hillside 
had suggested to my mind. 

We reached the entrance to the 
caves, a well-appointed house built 
over a descending staircase which 
led directly to the wonders. Here 
American refinement and ingenu- 
ity met us on the threshold. We 
were given candles, but these were 
not merely single ones, which each 
could take in his or her hand. No, 
they were arranged in clusters of 



TO SUMMER 131 

three or four, placed In a com- 
bined socket. Attached to this 
socket was a curved metal shade, 
to which was fastened a conven- 
ient handle. The upright shade 
covered the light from one's eyes, 
the handle made it pleasant to 
hold, all dripping of grease was 
prevented, and with complete com- 
fort we could follow our guide 
down the steps into the cavern. 

We were told that there was no 
mud, no dirt, no danger; all that 
was necessary and peremptory' 
was that we were to keep close to 
our guide, and by no means to 
step aside into any alluring by- 
paths. Good advice this, for any 
undertaking, to keep to the pre- 



32 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



scribed way and to keep close also 
to one's leader. 

The caverns durinor the show 
season are lit with electric lamps, 
but the illumination which our 
guide provided seemed to me 
better than any steady electric 
light could be. We saw the caves 
by means of a plentiful use of 



magnesium wire. 



As we advanced through the 
first cavern our candles revealed 
to us somewhat of the Aladdin- 
like wonders of the fairy place, but 
when our guide flashed out his 
bright white light, and waved it 
about over the glittering stalac- 
tites and the grotesque and won- 
derful formations on every hand, 



TO SUMMER 



33 



the effect was maoical. To this 
bright light would succeed the 
darkness of the abyss, until our 
eyes could again perceive the flare 
of our candles, which served to 
illuminate but a narrow circle and 
show us one step at a time. 

We were taken from one won- 
der to another, up and down 
again, until we had reached a 
depth of over two hundred feet. 
There was no damp, nothing dis- 
agreeable, the air was pure and 
sweet, and not too cold. We saw 
glittering formations In all kinds 
of fantastic shapes, some clear and 
white as the purest moonlight, 
others rose- colored, others gray, 
others tinted like onyx, and 



34 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



grained like the finest wood, vary- 
ing in tone from richest brown to 
brightest orange. 

We saw clear pools of pellucid 
water, silent, cold, and still, like 
fairies' mirrors. Some were like 
huge cups partly crusted over by a 
carbonate film, others were fifty 
feet deep or more. 

All sorts of fantastic names were 
given to the formations, such as 
Titania's Bower, Saladin's Tent, 
and the Spectre, or an)thing 
which the fancy might contrive ; 
but the silence of it all, and the 
carving work done in the eternal 
darkness, were more to me than 
mere names. 

Here one could see, descending 



TO SUMMER 135 

from the unseen heights, huge 
laminae, side by side, close and 
regular as the underside of a 
mushroom, but hucre as oriant 
oaks; yet, monstrous as they were, 
as delicately moulded as a lady's 
ear. 

Here was a prostrate giant, a 
huge column of alabaster, gnawed 
and discolored by the ages which 
had recorded the unknown years 
since its overthrow. In and around 
and through it all we wandered 
in the surrounding darkness, led 
on by our faithful guide. Our can- 
dles, shining out before our own 
footsteps, but yet keeping our- 
selves ever in the shade, produced 
many curious groupings. These 



136 FROM SUMMER LAND 

were all enhanced when, at point 
after point, the magnesium wire 
flashed out its weird white licrht 
for our surprise and delight. 

It was a sensation to look into 
the mazy black depths utterly be- 
yond our reach. In one of these 
we could dimly discern the em- 
bedded bones of a human skele- 
ton, some hapless one who in for- 
gotten ages dropped down there 
to his irrevocable doom. 

What a fate it must have been 
to be thus buried alive in impene- 
trable darkness, within those cold 
smooth walls which no mortal foot 
could ever climb. 

Had he wandered in from the 
outward world, and lost his way. 



TO SUMMER i^y 

or had he dropped from above 
down through some half-concealed 
fissure which opened to the upper 
air ? 

It might have been In some such 
fashion as this latter, for It was by 
observing such a fissure, through 
which cold air seemed to rush up- 
ward, that the caverns were dis- 
covered by Mr. Andrew J. Camp- 
bell, wdio, with others, entered 
them on August 13, 1878. Since 
then the caverns have been a show- 
place of great attraction, thousands 
visiting them every year. They 
are certainly worth more than one 
visit ; for In beauty and richness 
the stalactite display exceeds that 
of any other cavern known. 



138 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



The immense space called the 
ball-room suoro-ests the mao^nifi- 
cence of a race of o-iants. The 
rocks above, with their clustering 
pendants catching- the light ; the 
ereat decorations of encrusted 
alabaster upon cyclopean walls ; 
the great oval of the cemented 
floor, the seats arranged here and 
there for spectators ; give the no- 
tion that if one were to wait in 
silence and utter some magic spell 
the mysterious denizens of this 
strange palace would show them- 
selves to our mortal gaze, and 
make rare revel for our delight 
and awe. 

Neither would music be want- 
ing. Every hanging frond of crys- 



TO SUMMER 



139 



tal is an instrument ready to an- 
swer with a touch. The o-reat 
stalactites would give a tone deep 
as the lowest organ note, and the 
whole cjamut of musical utterance 
could be evoked by a knowing 
hand. 

We heard this litho-melody to 
perfection in the vast opening- 
called the cathedral. Our o-uide 
left us grouped at one side of the 
great space, while on the other he 
approached the organ, formed of 
alabaster columns closely placed 
together. He played a little mel- 
ody which was weird in the still- 
ness, and as he plied his hammer 
rapidly over the whole surface, as 
one would slide the fineer over 



I40 FROM SUMMER LAND 

piano keys, he showed us that a 
patient and skilful musician could 
find every tone and semitone neces- 
sary for any melody or complicated 
harmony. Our guide was more suc- 
cessful with the cathedral chimes, 
which he struck out from some 
huge sword-like pendants near by. 
The tone was clear and true, pro- 
ducing in that semi-darkness an 
effect which one could never fonTet. 
We were told that the extent 
of these caverns in all their won- 
der is unknown. Every year new 
chambers are opened and made 
ready for inspection. A certain 
amount of clearino- has to be 
done, but I beijored of our ouide 
that portions at least should be 



TO SUMMER 



[41 



left entirely in the rough. There- 
upon he conducted us into a part 
not yet thrown open to the public. 
It was like the forest primeval. 
The dust of aees was there, the 
uncleared floor littered with debris, 
the ooze under foot, the precarious 
treading which needed constant 
watchfulness, but the glory of sta- 
lactite and crystal was all the 
same. I was satisfied when I saw 
this cavern absolutely untouched, 
that the improvements of cement 
paths to walk on, of fence-posts 
and railing, and other marks of 
human care, did not take anything 
from the unequalled beauties of 
the Luray Cavern. 

" Geologically considered, the 



42 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



Lura)' Cavern does not date be- 
yond the tertiary period, thougli 
carved from the Silurian lime- 
stone. At some period long sub- 
sequent to its original excavation, 
and after many large stalactites 
had grown, it was completely 
filled with olacial mud charcred 

o o 

with acid, whereby the dripstone 
was eroded into singularly gro- 
tesque shapes. After the mud 
had been mostly removed b)' flow- 
ing water, these eroded forms re- 
mained among the new growths. 
To this contrast may be ascribed 
some of the most striking- scenes 
in the cave. The many and ex- 
traordinar\- monuments of aque- 
ous enerLiA' include; massi\'e col- 



TO SUMMER 



143 



limns wrenched from their place 
in the ceiling and prostrate on the 
floor ; the hollow column, forty 
feet high and thirty feet in diam- 
eter, standing erect, but pierced 
by a tubular passage from top 
to bottom ; the leaning column, 
nearly as large, undermined and 
tilting like the campanile of Pisa ; 
the organ, a cluster of stalactites 
dropped points downward in the 
room known as the cathedral ; be- 
sides a vast bed of disinteorated 
carbonates left by the whirling 
flood in the retreat known as the 
Elfin Ramble." * 

It would be impossible to over- 

* Encyclopasclia Britannica, art. " Luray 
Cavern." 



144 



FROM SUMMER LAND TO SUMMER 



estimate the richness and grandeur 
of those underground wonders in 
Luray Cavern. In the canopy 
alone of the Imperial Spring it is 
estimated that 40,000 pendants 
are visible at once. 

F'or hours one 
may traverse this 
land of enomes 
and pixies, and 
yet leave the scene, 
as we did, with the 
feelintr that the 
half had not been 
told us, and that 
we had seen but 
the merest frag- 
ment of its unend- 
ing wonders. 




Harper's Ferry 



It seems a place filled with pure upper air, 
An open gateway to the golden west, 
A garden fair, hemmed in by mountain crest. 

With some kind faithful dragon watching there. 

O ever may, the products fair, of peace. 
The golden apples meet for marriage feast, 
Of union true, 'twixt West, North, South and 
East, 

Grow in our Hesper-land, and never cease. 

And may they also ever guarded be 

By faithful hearts, the loyal and the true ; 
And may these golden apples aye renew 

Our love of country and of liberty. 

J. H. K. 



Harper's Ferry 




VII 

As we were draw- 
ing near Harper's 
Ferry a brakeman 
entered our car and 
drew our attention 
to Charlestown, Vir- 
ginia, which we 
were then approach- 
ing. 

"That dome," 
said the brakeman, 
"is where John 
Brown was tried, 
and not far off he was hung." 
The quiet old town, which seemed 



I CO FROM SUMMER LAND 

to show no signs of modern prog- 
ress, at once assumed an interest 
in our eyes. For think what one 
may of John Brown and his ac- 
tions at Harper's Ferry, October, 
1859, he stands out as the advanc- 
ine herald of events which began 
to take place in all their dread 
reality eighteen months after his 
death. 

A man who could stand on the 
^allows in that town of Charles- 
town, with the black cap drawn 
over his face and the noosed 
rope about his neck for a long 
fifteen minutes, while troops were 
marched and countermarched to 
form a hollow square about his 
gibbet, without ever showing a 



TO SUMMER 15 J 

quiver, either in head or in arm or 
limb, must have had some stuff in 
hull. Yet that was the process of 
his taking- off, when, after the 
sheriff left him with the word that 
all was ready, he was thus left in 
that awful darkness awaitincr the 
coming- of his doom. 

The man was the product of 
his inheritance and environments. 
He was saturated with the Bible ; 
he brooded on the ideas of lib- 
erty ; he was a mystic himself ; he 
deemed himself an instrument in 
the hands of God for the work 
that he set out to do. Had he 
broken with orthodoxy and put 
himself forward as a leader in a 
new religion, his force and gloomy 



152 FROM SUMMER LAND 



power might have had results 
as enormous as that of Joseph 
Smith and Brigham Young, both, 
ahke with John Brown, products 
strangely sprung from certain con- 
ditions of American life. 

I remember well the thrill which 
passed through the country in 
1859 when the leader of the Har- 
per's Ferry raid and his comrades 
were hung by the State of \nrginia. 
Some applauded the short and 
sharp decision which seemed hap- 
pily to end the whole disturb- 
ing matter. Others felt otherwise, 
and sadly said, " The end is not 
yet." No one knew what was 
coming. 

It is worth while quoting here 



TO SUMMER jt^ 

what Governor Wise, of Virginia, 
wrote concerning John Brown : 
"They are mistaken who take 
John Brown to be a madman. He 
is a bundle of the best nerves I 
ever saw ; cut and thrust and 
bleeding and In bonds. He is a 
man of clear head, of courage, for- 
titude and simple Ingenuousness. 
He Is cool, collected. Indomitable ; 
and It Is but just to him to say 
that he was humane to his prison- 
ers, and he Inspired me with 
great trust In his integrity as a 
man of truth." This opinion, com- 
ing from a gentleman In high po- 
sition, whose duty it was to have 
him tried, duly sentenced and 
hung, is of some weight. 



154 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



With all these ghosts of the 
past In our minds, we reached 
picturesque Harper's Ferry, and as 
we crowded out on our car plat- 
form to look about us, one of our 
party exclaimed, with feeling voice, 
''This is Harper's Ferry, where 
that great and good man John 
Brown made his noble stand for 
freedom." 

Near us was a small group of 
men, one of whom looked up in 
a quick, nervous manner, and re- 
plied at once with a tone like the 
ping of a rifle : " Sir, I feel sorry 
for you if you can call Brown a 

good man ; he was the 

rascal God Almighty ever put 
breath into. He came here and 



TO SUMMER ICC 

tried to steal our property ; and, 
right over there, within thirty rods 
of us, he shot down innocent men 
in cold blood." 

This sudden aspect of a totally 
different view of thincrs was abso- 
lutely ludicrous. The seriousness 
of the fact that such views do 
exist was as nothing. The words 
were hailed with a roar of lauo-h- 
ter from all sides. Then, after a 
blank silence of surprise, there 
was some more talk /)n? and ro7/. 
It was soon all over. 

I confess that I felt some sym- 
pathy with my well-knit, firmly set 
old mountaineer from Virginia, as 
he hurled back in his calm rao-e 
his last shot : " Why didn't you 



156 FROM SUMMER LAND 

buy our slaves from us and not 
rob us of everything we had?" 
There the hardy old fellow stood, 
defiant looknig and yet gentle- 
manly. He had in his hands a 
superb bouquet of mountain aza- 
lea, which seemed to emphasize the 
finer side of his nature, even while 
his clear eye flashed lightning. 
To ease matters a little I stepped 
off the car and enofaeed him in 
conversation about the charmine 
flowers he was holding. With 
hospitable grace he handed me the 
whole bunch. I thanked him and 
said that they would serve as a 
peace offering in the present dis- 
pute. Quite close to the station 
was a small obelisk set up to mark 



TO SUMMER 



157 



the site of John Brown's fortress, 
and hard by, where the American 
flag was flying in the breeze, was 
the place where the blood had 
been shed to which the Vireinian 
had referred. 

Curiously enough, a few days 
before leavinof New York I met a 
gentleman who mentioned to me, 
I do not remember in what con- 
nection, that John Brown in his 
younger days was a believer in 
non-resistance, and the literal in- 
terpretation of the ethics of the 
Sermon on the Mount, but after 
his Kansas experience he de- 
liberately made the Old Testa- 
ment his model — an eye for an eye, 
and a tooth for a tooth. This 



158 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



accounts for the assassination in 
Kansas of the four pro-slavery 
men called from their beds at 
night and deliberately shot. It 
also explains the strangeness of his 
actions at Harper's Ferry, which, 
as we now look back at them, 
merely antedated a huge move- 
ment later on, which drenched the 
entire nation with blood. 

Our brief stay at Harpers 
Ferry, short as it was, seemed a 
continuation of the history of the 
nation. We soon drew out from 
the station and left the romantic 
spot far behind. 

The rest of our day's journey 
was through the lovely valley of 
the Shenandoah, peaceful in its 



X'.illey of the Shenandoah 



TO SUMMER 



i6] 



fertile slopes, en- 
compassed by the 
distant hills, and 
watered by the 
winding river. 

All was once 
the scene of 
weary warfare, 
now for ever end- 
ed. How hard 
it was to realize, 
amid the present 
beauty and rest, 
the fire and 
smoke of contend- 
ing forces and 
the horror and 
tears of suffering 
and of death. 




Washington 



Like some huge tower of soaring silver flame, 
The Obelisk lifts high its awful form, 
Radiant, serene, in sunshine or in storm, 

It tells of him, who gives to it, his name. 

Silent, serene, unmoved and ever true. 

Like silver tried in sevenfold furnace fires. 
His spirit still our faltering will inspires. 

And summons us, like him, to dare and do. 

The curving dome, may speak of pliant wills ; 

The colonnades, of whispering intrigues ; 

But, brave, the Obelisk, doth such base leagues. 
Frown down upon, with all their kindred ills. 

Upward, severe, unswerving, honest, pure, 
A solemn sermon set in soaring stone ; 
From time, it calls to God's eternal throne. 

Where only what is pure, shall sure, endure. 

J. H. K. 



The ?slenaee 




VIII 

It was well on 
in the afternoon 
when we reached 
Washlncrton, and, 
having the next day before us, a 
good rest was the wisest proceed- 
ing. This I obtained while ridine 
at random on some of the street- 
car lines, where one can look about 
and see people and things without 
much fatigue. 

At night I happened upon a 
capital specimen of negro music. 
I was strolling on one of the 
streets near the station, just be- 



l68 FROM SUMMER LAND 

fore turning- in for the night in our 
railroad car, when I heard some 
sweet sounds comino- from a dark 
corner near a vacant lot. In the 
eloom I could see three necrro 
youngsters lying on the grass, 
croonino- their melodies for their 

o 

own delight. A little crowd soon 
ofathered, and the sinorers were in- 
duced, by the hope of some dimes, 
to step into the light and raise 
their music in louder fashion. This 
they did with a will, varying their 
performance with wild dances. 
There was a survival of the bar- 
baric in the tom-tom slapping on 
the thio^h to mark time for the 
dancers ; while in the music there 
was a strange tone, full of mystery. 



TO SUMMER 



169 



The three boys, when singing, 
formed a group, facing Inward. 
They stared Into each other's eyes 
as If possessed, and then they 
warbled away In a three-part har- 
mony, always pleasing, sometimes 
a little crude, but again and again 
Introducing curious diminutions 
and expansions of Interval, more 
like the gypsy music of Hungary 
or Bohemia than auo^ht else. A 
few of the melodies I heard were 
genuine darky airs ; others were 
ordinary music-hall songs, but 
given with a peculiar twist by 
these young minstrels. 

During the winter I had heard 
a delightful concert by the Men- 
delssohn Glee Club, of New York, 



70 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



in which some neo^ro music was 
«_> 

admirably sung. Beautiful as it 
was it lacked the wild flavor of 
the genuine article, such as one 
could perceive in the untutored 
efforts of these street lads. If the 
three boys in Washington could 
be induced to sing on the New 
York concert stage just as they 
sang in the shadow of a fence, as 
I heard them, it would make a 
success. 

As the little al fresco concert 
was at full blast a cry came on the 
night air, " Cheese it, the cop ! " 
and the three darky performers 
fluttered off into the outer dark- 
ness like frightened birds. 

A day at Washington, and at 



TO SUMMER 



71 



such a place, how little it is to 
have at one's disposal ! But a wise 
traveller will never lament over 
what he cannot see, and will limit 
his observations to his oppor- 
tunity and be philosophically con- 
tent therewith. 

The Congressional Library was 
our first point, we had heard so 
much of its splendor and its great- 
ness. It is indeed a magnificent 
affair. The exterior has a quiet 
sumptuousness most satisfactory, 
and the interior fairly glows with 
rich color and decoration. There 
is so much of this that it is almost 
oppressive. The loud tone of the 
entrance hall, the gay coloring, 
and the flauntine forwardness of 



1/2 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



that part seem to call for a shout 
of exultation rather than for the 
reverent hush which one miorht 
be expected to experience when 
approaching the sacred shrine of 
Minerva. The inner corridors are, 
some of them, exquisite models in 
subdued and appropriate color- 
ing, and the whole place, outside 
of the library proper, is a library 
in itself, full of thought and art, 
an ever open book for all comers. 
One could tread those courts for 
years and find new lessons in each 
reprise of footstep. 

From the surrounding gallery of 
the great rotunda we looked down 
into the library far below. Up 
near where we stood were o-reat 



TO SUMMER 173 

monumental bronze figures of 
famous men of the past. Beneath 
was the broad silent space, filled 
in with the busy workers of the 
present, as In their sumptuous 
surroundings they tolled amid 
their books. 

The whole effect of the library 
was rich In the extreme. The 
superb rotunda, with Its vast lan- 
tern, the bronzes, the marbles, 
the carvings, the decorations, the 
sumptuous quiet of the place, sug- 
o-ested an Infinity of wealth and 
power. There was a pomp and 
circumstance about It all as If of 
something triumphant. It made 
me think of Venice In Its glory, 
and of the grandeur of the Roman 



174 



FROM SUMMER LAND 



basilicas, of the luxuriousness of 
old Italian ceilino-s and ornamen- 
tation. It was with a corrective 
shock that one thoiio-ht of the 
Radcliffe Library at Oxford, or 
the old Bodleian, or of the simple 
uncompromising plainness of the 
huge rotunda of the British Mu- 
seum. I doubt if the austerity of 
the old British Museum would 
ever please our people. We seem 
to need the magnificent and the 
splendid ; a note of luxury and 
pomp is ever with us in our private 
life as well as in our public affairs. 
In Washinorton itself there is, how- 
ever, a simple and unaffected side 
which is truly wonderful. 

Nowhere do you see any evi- 



TO SUMMER 



175 



dence of display, military or of- 
ficial. Here are no horseeuards 
mounted as immovable sentries 
before buildings of state ; no 
soldiers passing their rounds be- 
fore the residence of President or 
members of the cabinet ; not a 
vestige of anything of the kind. 
You pass by the White House, 
the Treasury, the Capitol, or any 
other public building : not a guard 
is in evidence anywhere. Of course 
there are caretakers and detectives 
and all that, for such are neces- 
sary against accident. The whole 
air of Washington seems to say : 
" Everything here Is In the guard- 
ianship of the people." 

We had several drives throug-h 



1^6 FROM SUMMER LAND 

the ever varying avenues and 
squares of this beautiful Wash- 
ington. The wealth of foliage, 
the broad spaces, and the splen- 
dor of the public and private 
buildings, with their picturesque 
groupings. Impress one with the 
attractiveness of this queen city 
of the nation. 

The growing heat reminded us 
that we must not be lured on to 
undue exertion, and we concluded 
to limit our excursions to a visit 
to the great obelisk. 

A closer view of this great 
structure, which dominates the 
landscape with a sort of spiritual 
splendor for miles about Washing- 
ton, Impressed us greatly. 



TO SUMMER 177 

It is a fearful sensation to stand 
close to its vast height and then 
look up to its huge walls. The 
optical effect is bewildering and 
almost uncanny. We had hoped 
to make the ascent, but the eleva- 
tor was out of order, and it was 
too near the hour of closing to 
make an attempt to get at the top 
by the staircase. 

The exclamation of a orentle- 
man who had just returned from a 
pilgrimage to the summit, and his 
earnest manner in saying "I would 
not do that again for a farm," 
spread contentment among us at 
our failure to make the ascent. 

A curious effect was to experi- 
ence the rush of cold air blown 



1^8 FROM summp:r land 

out through the entrance door 
from the heicrhts above. It came 
like a breeze from the northland, 
and with an intensity quite re- 
markable. 

While looking at the great obe- 
lisk close to its base, one feels 
that the smallness of the blocks 
has, near the ground, a rather 
weak effect, and yet I suppose it 
could not have been otherwise. 
Perhaps the uniformity of the 
stones suggests universal suffrage 
and the equality of all votes. 
Some courses of larcrer blocks 
in the first stages of the building 
would have been more satisfying 
to the eye. The chipping away 
and disinteoration of those small 



TO SUMMER 



179 



courses of the marble, so easily 
noticeable, gives one an uncom- 
fortable suggestion. 

The plain square doorway, too, 
seems a mean sort of thine. I 
would like to see the base, for at 
least twenty or thirty feet up, en- 
closed in handsome bronze, form- 
ing a great ornamental frieze of 
State flaofs and emblems, or, better 
yet, a spirited grouping of all the 
heroes of the Revolution, with 
Washington himself in their midst. 
Such a frieze of noble men would 
be an eternal object lesson in 
history, and take away from the 
mean effect of the lower portion 
of the great obelisk, and also re- 
move the cold isolation of having 



l80 FROM SUMMER LAND 

Washington all by himself and not 
rather with his generals around 
him, without whom even he could 
not have been what he was. 

Our day in Washington was 
soon to end, and then, some time 
in the night, our train was to 
whisk us away to New York while 
we slept. 

It so happened that a great 
event coincided with our stay of 
a day. We read it in the even- 
ino- papers. It was the payment 
to Spain of twenty million dollars 
in connection with the formal ces- 
sion of the Philippine Islands to 
the United States. The papers 
told us of the four checks for $5,- 
000,000 each, and how the French 



TO SUMMER i8l 

Ambassador, M. Cambon, receiv^ed 
them at the State Department, 
giving a receipt therefor, non- 
chalantl)' folding up the four pre- 
cious pieces of paper in his card 
case, putting that in his pocket 
and returning to his home quite un- 
attended and on foot, without the 
sHorhtest concern about the vast 
sum he carried with him. The re- 
ceipt which M. Cambon gave was 
dated May i, 1899, and was as 
follows : 

" Received from the Secretary of State 
of the United States the sum of twenty 
milhon dollars ($20,000,000) in four drafts 
upon the treasurer of the United States, 
numbered 4,509, 4,510, 4,511, 4,512, and 
dated April 29, 1899, each draft being for 



1 82 FROM SUMMER LAND 

five million dollars ($5,000,000), the same 
being in full payment of the obligation of 
the Government of the United States to 
the Government of Spain, as set forth in 
Article III. of the treaty of peace between 
the United States and Spain, signed at 
Paris, France, on the loth day of Decem- 
ber, eighteen hundred and ninety-eight, 
the ratifications of which were exchanged 
in the city of Washington, on the nth day 
of April, one thousand eight hundred and 
ninety-nine, the same being provided by 
an act of Congress, approved March 2, 
1899, entitled ' An act making appropria- 
tions to carry out the obligations of the 
treaty between the United States and 
Spain, concluded December 10, eighteen 
hundred and ninety-eight.' " 

What an illustration the whole 
proceeding- was of the quiet- 
ness and confidence of these 



TO SUMMER 



183 



United States. The utter sim- 
plicity of the whole proceeding' — 
the French Ambassador walking 
to the State Department and re- 
turning to his embassy again on 
foot, the huge affair and all its 
relations, transpiring as a mere 
commonplace transaction — it was 
splendid. 

A little over a year ago our 
party passed through Washington 
for our " Flight in Spring." The 
war with Spain was not then de- 
clared, but war was in the air. 
Now the whole great action was 
over, the war was ended ; the pay- 
ment to M. Cambon, who repre- 
sented Spain, finished the whole 
transaction. 



184 FROM SUMMER LAND 

We were out on the Pacific coast 
ciurlng- April and May of last year. 
While the war was at its height 
we followed its progress with 
throbbing hearts, hearing by the 
shores of the Pacific of the glori- 
ous victories of our fieet on the 
far opposite shores. We felt, out 
there in California, as never be- 
fore, the glory and splendor of 
our great land. It all grew upon 
us as we traversed its empire from 
east to west, and back again 
to east, to New York, and to 
home. 

Again we had been on our trav- 
els. We were speeding from Sum- 
mer Land to vSummer, passing 
through a portion of the vast 



TO SUMMER 185 

States of the South, back again to 
New York and to home, and our 
new journey was to us a fresh 
revelation of the unimagined won- 
ders of this our land wherever 
one is happy enough to pass over, 
in any direction, its vast extent, 
rich and glorious as it is, and 
freighted with possibilities for the 
future, possibilities which they 
alone who even in some dim way 
know America can ever faintly 
imagine. 

Our night between Washington 
and Jersey City passed like a 
dream. In the earlv mornine 
hours we were ferried across to 
Liberty Street, and once more 
New York received us into the 



l86 FROM SUMMER LAND TO SUMMER 

immensity of its undimmecl mag- 
nificence. Our trip from Summer 
Land to Summer was at an 
end. 




OCT «> 1899 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




